querors and the
conquered. Still, to this day, the two nations dwell in the same land,
but not united. Still each member of each race learns as his first
lesson to which of the two he belongs, and recognizes, by some occult,
but well-known tokens, the race and creed of every man with whom he has
dealings. Religious differences, of course, have come in to swell the
tide of mistrust, and to nullify the most strenuous efforts of the
Anglo-Irish to gain the confidence of the Celts. In the books circulated
in the baskets of the strolling pedlers, which constitute almost the
sole literature of the laboring class, we have constantly seen the
favorite tract entitled "A Father's Advice to his Son," in which the
Catholic peasant is warned to put no faith in the desire of his
Protestant neighbor to help him, and advised, _not_, indeed, to refuse
his charity, but to return for it no gratitude, since a Protestant can
have no real feeling for a Catholic. We have heard with our own ears
O'Connell say almost the same thing in Conciliation Hall, and tell his
hearers that English subscriptions at the time of the famine were given
from _fear_, not kindness. But even were all these false teachers
silenced, were the enormous insult of the Irish Establishment retracted
to-morrow, even then the root of national bitterness would not be
killed. It would take generations to kill it.

Between fifty and a hundred years ago the Anglo-Irish gentry, as all the
world knows, were a wild and extravagant race. Duelling and drinking
were the two great duties of a gentleman. A young man was instructed how
to "make his head" early in life, and to acquire the gentle art of
pistolling his friends, when now he would be studying Greek under
Professor Jowett, or "coaching" for a civil-service examination. It was
in bad taste in those halcyon days for a man to leave a pleasant social
party in a state of sobriety, and he was liable to be challenged by his
aggrieved companions if he did it frequently. The custom of locking the
dining-room door and putting the key in the fire, so as to secure a
comfortable night (on the floor), was so common as hardly to deserve
notice; and in many old houses are still preserved the huge glasses
bearing the toast of the Immortal Memory of William III., and calculated
to hold three bottles of claret, all to be drunk at once by one member
of the company, who then won the prize of a seven-guinea piece deposited
at the bottom. Gambling